


Hunter in the Dark

by Rose_de_Noire



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_de_Noire/pseuds/Rose_de_Noire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raoul's older sibling returns to Paris and is instantly fascinated by the Phantom, Erik in turn is just annoyed to have one more de Chagny in the picture.  So they go for a hunt, each with their own motives. It turns out differently as each of them expected.<br/>This story begins at the end, kinda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First part

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older story of mine I overhauled and therefore already finished, I'll post a chapter all few days!  
> Rating: NC-17 hetero  
> Genre: Romance  
> Pairing: E/OC  
> Words: around 10'000  
> Status: Complete  
> Warnings:  
> Wild mix of all the phantom-verses, mainly Kay and definitely AU  
> A lot of OOC’ness from Raoul’s and Philippe‘s part (even if we never see him in persona). The Persian too and Erik…  
> Oh heck, Erik… Erik is just my version Erik.  
> Means, he’s a medley of all the Eriks/Phantoms I know in literature, films, musicals mixed with a good brush of my own dirty, insane, phantasies and memories.  
> But, he always looks like Leroux/Kay Erik, only his eyes just reflect in the dusty light of darkness and seem to be yellow-cattish; in peaceful daylight they're from the color like of the midnight-sky, with golden sparkles, like falling stardust...
> 
> With this I bid you goodbye and let you read...

 

_*****First Part***** _

_**or** _

_**MINE** _

 

 

**I**

 

A black shadow, dressed in a tailcoat swept around a pillar, cape billowing behind, black hat drawn deep over glowing eyes.  
“Where, oh where are you...” the shadow’s voice was full of sadness.  
“I see you, lovely!”  
The shadow halted and turned towards the other, newly appeared shadow and beamed at him.  
“There you are, my angel of darkness!”  
The shadow, about a head taller than the first, flashed a bright smile and gently touched a cheek. “You came back, my love...”  
“I'll always find my way back home, my beloved ghost...” her arms flew around his neck, “... even when I lose all my other paths...”  
The taller shadow took her hand and disappeared in a doorway nearby by explaining. “Rat-cage, nobody here at this hour...” he laughed, “No visitors allowed!”  
She just lifted his narrow hand to her mouth and placed a sparkling kiss upon it to thank him.  
  
“Erik...” the soft voice whispered like a purr and he pulled her closer, pushed her further in to the room.  
“Mine!” she stated and he nodded.  
They smiled at each other, leaned in for another kiss and when they had to part in need for air he announced. “Mine!”  
She nodded. “Yours, forever and ever!”  
They both stumbled backwards when Erik lifted her up, pressed her back against the mirrors, capturing her sweet lips once more in a ravishing kiss.  
  
He could see his grotesque face in the mirror as he buried himself deep in her trembling body, while she desperately clutched onto his slender shoulders, panting his name over and over with every hard trust and – he couldn't care less about his deformation.  
“Mine...” he growled into her delicate ear.  
“Mine...” she groaned in response, biting down hard on his neck, leaving a mark.  
  
They sat on the wooden floor, still entangled, in the mess of their disheveled clothes, kissing tenderly, as a little noise could be heard from outside.  
“Someone 's coming...” she whispered, “...we should leave, Erik.”  
He nodded, lifted her gently from his knees and stood. “Down to my lair, or back to your...”  
She tiptoed and brushed a kiss to his mouth, cutting him off. “Your lair. Wouldn't make it to my mansion with this burning desire to make love to you over and over again, my Angel...” she put on her pants, “and I'm pretty sure every coachman in this city would be offset if _the_ _countess_ would do a such thing in his carriage!”  
Erik couldn't help but start to giggle and blush. “You,” he laid an arm around her waist, “are an unbelievable, shameless wonder, Countess!” and he leaned down to capture her lips in another deep kiss.  
  
They disappeared through a mirror nearby into a dark corridor when the countess stifled a laugh. “Erik, didn't you forget something?”  
The man in front of her stopped dead in his tracks, brought a hand up to his face and groaned, “You are probably the only one being in the world who is capable to let _me_ forget my mask...”  
“No worry Love, I've got it...” she smiled at his back, placing her hands upon his hips, “... even there’s no use for it tonight. ‘can’t kiss with that damn thing…”  
He just smiled into the darkness ahead and quickened his pace.  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

 

**II  
**   


“Tea?”  
He lifted his gaze from the music sheet he was working on and flashed her a smile. “Lemon?”  
The countess smiled coyly and placed the teacup on the desk. “Of course...” and she strolled over to the drawn curtains to open them, “... sun is shining...”  
Erik, already drifted back to his work, lifted his eyes once more, only to see her stand in the window-frame outlined by the golden sunlight like a tableau and he could just stare at this beauty.  
_His_ beauty.  
“Mine...” he whispered, voice dark with passion.  
She turned with the grace of an ancient goddess and replied in her sweetest tone, “Yours...”  
Not a moment later they both rolled on the thick Persian carpet of her study, locked in a breathtaking kiss...  
  
“Now your tea’s cold and your piece of music not finished...” she idly murmured against Erik's throat, whilst her fingers traced patterns on his naked chest.

He only chuckled and turned them around, so he could lean down to brush one of his special kisses to her nose. “This is worth more than all the compositions I ever wrote, darling.”  
“Erik, don't play Don Juan...”  
“I do not play...”  
She just giggled and then tried to tickle him when a knock sounded from the door. “Mistress, there is someone who wishes to talk with you...”  
“Who is it?” the countess groaned annoyed, “Emily?”  
From outside the study the timid voice explained, “He didn't give his name, but he told me I should warn you about our “masked guest”...”  
  
Erik and the countess groaned in unison. “Nadir!”  
  
“Tell our uninvited guest we'll be with him within a few minutes...” then she laughed, “ and that there is no “masked guest”, only the count and the countess, Emily!”  
  
“Bah, this is yours...” the countess cursed and threw a pair of black trousers at Erik, “and where's mine?”  
Erik caught the piece of cloth and suggested, “Downstairs... I saw it the last time in the blue-salon...”  
The countess sighed and mumbled, while she strode into their dressing room, “Hopefully Emily removed it, before she let the Daroga in...”  
“My mask is there too, I think.”  
The countess giggled delighted, “I love you, Erik...”  
  
He sat on the couch in this wonderful salon, a cup of tea on the table before him, but Nadir was way too worried about the _countess_ to even touch his cup.  
The maid had come back only to say that there were no masked guest and he – _please_ – should wait there until the countess and the count would have the time to see him.  
_Count?!_  
He hadn't even known that the countess was wed.  
This circumstance would complicate the situation even more. Erik would set out to kill the count.  
And it had been a fluke he had heard of the whole thing from Mme. Giry.  
How could he let this happen?  
How in all the worlds had Erik had the chance to get into this liaison with _her_ under the Daroga's watching eyes?  
Nadir was aware, that the _countess_ had the bad reputation of being filthy rich, a virago and soldier of fortune, but... He was interrupted in his musings by a all too familiar voice.  
  
“Good morning my old friend!”  
  
Nadir almost jumped at Erik’s voice and he jumped literally as he lifted his eyes from his hands to look at the phantom. “Erik, where is your mask!”  
  
“Why,” a female voice stated surprisingly cold, “should he wear a mask in his own home, dear Daroga?”  
  
“His home?! What would your _husband_ say Countess?!” the Persian almost spat.  
Green glistening eyes narrowed as the countess stepped forward and ironically suggested, “You could ask him yourself, if it is your profound desire to meddle into our private affairs, dear Daroga!”  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

**III  
  
**

Nadir Khan's eyes darted to Erik as the phantom made a sound as if he had to stifle a laugh. “What,” the Persian asked cautiously, “is going on here?”  
  
Erik just shrugged and paced over to the chimney. “Nothing all too spectacular old friend, her _husband_ is not a big headache to me...”  
  
The countess stifled a giggle and Nadir hurried up behind Erik to place a hand on his shoulder ordering. “You won't kill the count, _I_ will not let...”  
At this point of the Daroga’s speech the countess broke in to breathless laughter and Erik intervened stoically, “This is very kind of you, but I have currently no tendency to suicide, you know old friend?”  
  
Nadir starred quit shocked at the phantom and squeaked, “Suicide?”  
  
“Yes,” the countess answered in Eriks place, “or to _whom_ you thought I'm married?”  
  
They both could see how Nadir Khan visibly paled and then stumbled towards the next armchair to almost collapse into it, clutching hard on to the armrests, stammering, “How... Why...When... Why _him_?!”  
  
When Nadir began to stammer the countess had a sudden outburst, looming over the Persian she placed her hands upon the armrests and growled dangerously low, “How? In a church an' before the law. Why? He is the perfect match to me. When? One _year_ ago...” her green eyes went to dangerous slits, “Why _him_? 'cause I _love_ him...” she backed off. “Satisfied, dear Daroga, or do I still have to kill you?”  
  
Both men in the room stared at her, one with a look like she had transformed into a devil and the other one full of love.  
  
Erik didn't wait to draw closer until she had fully pulled back from the Daroga, he enfolded her in his arms as she stood to glare down at the Persian and purred into her delicate ear, “this is one reason to love you” the countess turned in his grip to face him with a questioningly look, “you would kill for me.” Erik explained.  
They – much to the Daroga’s shock – leaned in and shared a soft kiss, whispering as they parted in unison, “Mine...”  
Nadir Khan sighed and tried to focus on his next task – To find out how they had met – and how honest the countess' love was.  
  
And so he asked, “How did you two fall in love?”  
  
“I'm a big game hunter...” the countess smiled, leaning back into Erik’s chest, “... and I heard rumors that there'd be prey for me in the opera house...”  
Erik chuckled and placed a kiss upon her neck and whispered, “and hunt me down, she did.”  
  
The Persian gulped and murmured, “This was a completely insane thing to do, countess...”  
“Another reason to love you,” the phantoms dark voice growled, “You’re completely insane, beloved countess.”  
Before they could kiss again Nadir blurted, “And what about Christine?”  
The countess almost jumped out of the phantoms grip and growled, facing him, voice dripping from jealousy, “Yes, Erik, what _is_ with _Christine_?”  
  
Her husband just smiled, gripped the countess wrists and pulled her back in to his chest once again purring, “Another reason to love you forever and ever. You're unnecessary jealous about _me_!” and he leaned down capturing her lips in a ravishing kiss, panting when they came up for air. “I am _entirely_ and _only_ yours, Countess.”  
She smiled up at him and cooed, “As I’m yours...”


	4. Chapter 4

**IV  
  
**

Nadir tried not to ruffle his hair, as he watched them while they had dinner.  
They had invited him like it was common that they had guests and so he had had no other choice but to accept.  
And now he sat at the table in the dining room and had to watch them coquette all the while.  
“Erik,” the countess voice drifted over the table, “what do we do now about the new repertoire?”  
The phantom made a disgruntled noise. “I think, this time money will work better and faster than threats...”  
  
“So it's my task as patron...” the countess agreed and leaned back in her seat, “... or will you do it Count Erik?”  
  
Erik just shook his head, pushed his chair back and left the room with a grunted, “there's still an opera to be finished...” though, as he passed the countess, he bent down and brushed a kiss on her temple, “... don't wait up for bed, love...” under the door frame he turned once more, bowing at the Daroga. “Until next time, old friend!”  
Nadir just stared after him.  
  
They sat in two wingback chairs in the blue-salon, in front of the chimney and facing each other, when Nadir asked, “and now, please countess, the truth about your...” he made a helpless gesture with his right hand, “'Romance'. Tell me how you can love him, he looks barely even hu...” he would have finished the sentence with the word human, but he never did, because there, right by his neck – barely missing it – plunged a dagger out from the stuffing.  
The Persian gulped and starred anxiously at the countess who growled low in her throat, playing along with another dagger.  
“Erik didn't lie as he said I would kill for him and his love. So you better behave while I tell you the whole story...” with one slight turn of her wrist she drove the dagger deep in the wood of the tea table.  
Nadir Khan just nodded and the countess began.  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next part's the Countess' tale. ^.~


	5. Second Part

 

_*****Second Part***** _

_**or** _

**_COMING HOME_  
**   
  
I  
  


 

She was back, finally she was back home again.  
How long had she been gone? Was it really an entire decade already?  
Persia, China, America, other countries, continents, and now, finally back home in Paris.  
She had made a fortune with diamonds and gold and she still had her title, but all she wanted at the moment was to see the one family member she loved the most and had missed dearly.  
And so she went out of _her_ mansion – money could buy you almost everything – just after a quick change.  
  
Her riding-boots clacked on the marble-floor, as she entered the bureau of the opera-directors, pushed the doors wide open and startled the three men inside.  
She took a swift look around and her glistening green eyes settled upon a young, blond man and the countess broke into a smile. “Raoul?”  
The young vicomte literally jumped to his feet and threw himself into her arms under the startled looks of the directors and squealed, “Sis you're home!”  
  
The woman, clad in a suit, lifted the young vicomte up and swung him around like a little boy and huffed, “heaven baby bro you're big!” and she placed Raoul back on his own feet.  
  
“I'm not fat, but you still look like a man, Andrée*!”  
She laughed.  
“And I'm still better looking than you kid...” she patted his shoulder affectionately, “And by the way, what’re you doing here?”  
  
Raoul de Chagny shrugged. “Play-schedule, I'm the most paying patron...”  
Andrée's eyes went big.  
“You? Opera? No way!”  
“Philippe left it to me to take over what should be _your_ duties when I turned old enough...” Raoul muttered unhappily and accusingly.  
The women made a bow and smiled. “Beg your pardon, Vicomte, but he tried to wed me...”  
This was whenMoncharmin and Richard started to wonder if the two of them where forgotten and went to speak up.  
But the strange lady choose just that moment to face them and while she bowed she announced, “May I introduce myself? Andrée, Countess de Chagny, at your service!” She then, once again stood upright, measured the two men with a hard look and spoke, “Better said, you’re at my service from now on mes chers directeurs**!”  
It was Richard who asked. “ _We_ , at _your_ service, Countess?”  
  
“Of course...” chided Raoul de Chagny in, “like you were at mine... I think the countess will retake her...”  
Andrée stopped him with a slight pat on his shoulder and explained, “My brother is right, I'll reclaim the title “most paying patron” for my own. And from now on it is _my_ decision which opera we will give, who plays which role and which box get sold to whom...”  
  
The directors stared at her in near shock.  
  
The countess just carried on unimpressed, “I claim box number seven first rank left hand. If we understand us, the salary for you and the ensemble is no longer at your worry for the following year, Monsieurs!”  
Raoul once again meddled in, “She is richer than our whole family. If I were you, dear directors, I would take the offer!”  
  
“And what about the phantom?” Moncharmin asked.  
  
“Phantom?” Andrée de Chagny echoed.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*Andrée is a girl’s name, pronounced the same way like André the boys name and means the manly...  
  
**dear directors  
  



	6. Chapter 6

 

**II  
  
**

They sat in Raoul's chaise, Andrée's horse trotted behind and she practically forced the last single detail which Raoul knew about the phantom out of her little brother, finally she recapitulated.  
“So, there is someone living somewhere in the Opera who taught your little sweetheart to sing, whom she calls an angel and the directors a ghost, 'cause he or she leads the opera house better than they do. Right baby bro?”  
The vicomte gave a nod and peered over to his older sister. “You'll go hunting?”  
Andrée just smiled devilishly. “The game is afoot, dear Raoul...”  
Raoul helplessly sighed. “Don't get killed, Andy...”  
“Won't promise...”  
  
Erik stared in utter bewilderment at the note on his seat.  
There was only one word written on the envelope. _Phantom_.  
He gently took the paper and opened it curiously.  
  
_Dear Phantom (the directors didn't know how to address you otherwise, I beg my pardon)  
I'm pleased to give you your box back and also your salary which will be payed with no further delay.  
  
_ The phantoms eyes went wide behind his mask while reading.  
  
_Before you may ask:  
My little brother told me about your singing lessons for Christine and that the wonderful play-schedule we had in the past twenty years all was due to you.  
__And in my task as the new “most paying patron” of this beautiful opera house I would be pleased to inform you, that_ I _do not allow_ _any further threats.  
If you desire to change the schedule, _ speak _with me.  
__At your service and with kind regards,_  
_A. de Chagny_  
  
No, not a Chagny on plus!  
Erik groaned annoyed and sat down.  
Why he hadn't known, that that little pest had another brother?  
  
Two hours later, as the phantom finally met Christine, he bellowed at her, “Is it true that the sweet little lord of you got another sibling than Philippe?”  
The girl just stared for a second at her “angel” and replied, “Yes, Andrée...”  
“How old?” Erik just had to know with what he had to deal this time.  
“About thirty...” stuttered Christine, “... I presume, Erik.”  
“Where was André all these years?”  
“Traveling the world, at least Raoul said so...” Christine explained.  
Why would the phantom want to know this?  
  


 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**III  
  
**

It was almost midnight when a rider galloped into the patio and reined his stallion by whispering one hushed word right in front of the door.  
Hidden in the gallery shadows, Erik could do nothing more than stare.  
He immediately knew of which breed this stallion was, even if he'd seen the last horse like this years ago back in Persia.  
As a gift for the Persian shah from an Indian sultan.  
Those horses _never_ left India for sale. Not with this brand - and this coat color.  
The inward-turned ear tips, the silvery gray color, now almost unnaturally glowing in the pale moonlight and the – why would a french nobleman ride bare back – fiery eyes and flaring nostrils, the phantom knew when he saw a war trained Marwari horse.  
The rider meanwhile, not aware of his audience, glided from the horses back, softly petted his nose and whispered, “Thank you Ajith...” he took the simple bridle off to stuff it into the pocket of his hunting jacket. “I would take you with me... but you still don't like business meetings...”  
When a door on the other side of the patio busted open Erik recoiled deeper into the shadows and disappeared by a hidden port.  
  
Ajith's head swung around and the countess followed his gaze quizzically, this was not the direction where Raoul was coming from, thundering like a storm.  
But there was a shadow – and the muted noise of a wicket.  
“Stay...” and with no further word she followed the faint sound of footsteps; catching the almost invisible wicket in the last second before it fell close.  
  
Raoul de Chagny stared at his sister’s horse.  
Where had Andrée disappeared to?  
She had been back two months and had almost taken over the management of opera house, but still the phantom refused to stop with his threats.  
Not good.  
Even worse, because Andrée now really was on the prowl; and not just out of curiosity like the first week.  
  
The countess paused for instant, so that her vision could adapt to the darkness in the corridor, before she moved on and instinctively pulled out her daggers.  
There were fading footsteps.  
Footsteps which quickened for a second and then stopped to return with a sound like someone had jumped over something.  
The countess smiled into the darkness and followed the faint sound, now pressed flat up against the wall.  
  
“Andrée!” Raoul stumbled along those pitch black corridors and then felt the floor moving downwards.  
  
“You,” a strong hand gripped his right arm, “ruined my hunt, baby bro!” and he was pulled upwards while Andrée calmly explained, “Trapdoors.”  
Raoul still shivered slightly while his sister guided him back into a normal corridor of the opera house.  
“Bro, why are you stalking about the phantoms backyard?”  
“Saw Ajith...” he answered sheepishly, “and you were in no sight...”  
“Raoul de Chagny...”  
“Yes Andrée?”  
“The phantom is _mine_. Do yourself a favor and stay out of my business!”  
  
Erik meanwhile, not all too far away because of the trapdoor-alert, growled upset, “I belong to no one...” his fingers gently caressed his Punjab-lasso and his voice acquired a velvety touch as he finished, “You will belong to _me_ , André.”  
  
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**IV  
  
**

She sat in her box – box number seven, first rank left hand – eyes halfway closed, head slightly tilted and listening to the performance, when something caught her attention.  
Green eyes flung open and the dagger was in her hand before she even thought of it.  
Her hunting instincts were awakened once more as Andrée darted out of her box towards box number five.  
  
Erik was annoyed, annoyed an upset with himself.  
He was in his box before the audience entered the auditorium.  
No one had seen him all this years; and now?  
Now this de Chagny brat saw even his slightest movements, like to pull just a little at the curtains, readjust his mask or...  
He heard footsteps approach and left the box through a secret door.  
  
Andrée smiled at the closed door from box five, passed by and disappeared in the back of the opera house, took the first stair to the cellars.  
Tigers you hunt the best in their own territory.  
  
“Trapdoors, trapdoors and yet another trapdoor...”  
Erik could hear his pursuer in the shady, formerly secret, corridors and knew immediately that this was a trap.  
Better even, an invitation.  
He followed the murmuring with a smirk behind his mask.  
The smirk faded when the voice whispered, “We're not in Persia, are we, dear Phantom?”  
He stood now right behind his hunter and was surprised how easy it had been to throw the lasso around their neck.  
  
That was until de Chagny spun around with lightning speed; smirking, pressing a dagger against the phantoms throat, downwards.  
“Watch up with your kitten bowels,” a disgustingly calm voice stated, “if you pull close, my knees will probably give out...”  
  
Erik could hear a slight chuckle in the voice.  
“And then _you_ will probably give out too, dear angel of music.”  
  
“You're very self-satisfied dear André,” the phantom teased, “but you do not seem like killing is your profession...”  
The answer Erik gained was unexpected.  
  
“I would not say, that I've the habit to kill,” his adversary reflected, “but there's something satisfyingly thrilling about slitting open the man who tried to rape you... to bask in his blood...”  
  
The phantom loosened his lasso half an inch when the dagger grazed his skin. “I wouldn't...” he growled, “No way, _count_.”  
  
Andrée de Chagny retired her dagger, stared for one moment at its bloody tip and then unspectacularly cut the Punjab-lasso from her neck and calmly corrected, “Its _countess_ dear _Erik_ , and my offer to lead the opera house with me is still open.”  
  
“Erik...” the name fell like smooth silk questioningly from the phantoms mouth.  
  
The countess nodded.  
“Or should I call you the trapdoor master, the khanums angel of death or what else they used to call you back then in Persia?”  
She could see the catlike eyes widening in the depths of the mask before the man purred in a deep dangerous voice.  
“No, thank you, I would prefer my name,” it was only then that Erik realized he was still threatened by a sharp dagger, “would you please take down your knife, Andrée?”  
  
  


 


	9. Chapter 9

 

**V  
  
**

_Two months later in the phantoms box:  
  
_ “What do you know about Persia?”  
“They're ruled by a Shah...” Andrée answered teasingly and Erik crossed his eyes with a frown.  
“De Chagny, this is not funny...”  
The low growl made her shiver and with a smile she leaned back in her seat. “Let me just tell that the stories around the masked architect of death where still vivid after all those years dear Erik...”  
The phantom nodded. “And how did a _lady_ come to acquire a Marwari?”  
“Ajith was a gift...” she flashed him a bright smile, “and I'm no lady.”  
“To me you are.” Erik stated, voice honest.  
  
The simple sentence melted her heart right away. “You're the first in years...” she breathed voice faltering.  
“The first one to do what?”  
“Calling me a lady. People calls me all sort of things but seldom...” she ended with a cough and stood to leave the box.  
Andrée leaned her forehead against the cool of the wall, choking hard on some silent tears, how had she come to this point?  
She knew more about the phantom, _Erik_ , than he ever would know.  
After all the stories they told in Persia and India she had a pretty good picture.  
  
Erik stared at her slouched shoulders and hesitated for a brief moment before stepping up behind her – luckily they were alone in the opera at this hour – and placed, plucking up all his courage, a hand on her shoulder. “What's wrong, Andrée?”  
He hadn't expected her profound reaction. He found himself hugged in a desperate embrace, Andrée sobbing into his jacket.  
  
“You've to stop being so nice to me Erik...”  
  
“I tried to kill you...” he reminded her of their first meeting.  
  
“I tried to kill you too.”   
  
She sobbed into his shoulder and in this moment he embraced her back for one endless moment and then pushed her softly away to guide her back into the box.  
“Uhm,” he tried to keep his voice calm as he switched the topic. “What do we do about chedule?”  
  
“We change it...” her voice still trembled a little, “or would you like to hear La Carlotta in the leading part, Erik?”  
  
He shuddered with disgust. “Not at all, Andrée, not at all...” and they went back to their task at hand  
  
Erik patted the beautiful stallion smiling behind his mask when Ajith gently nibbled at the edge of it.  
  
“He doesn’t like the mask...”  
The countess appeared out of one of _his_ secret corridors in the stables, “... but he really likes you, Erik. I didn't give him permission...”  
  
The phantoms voice was sad when he answered, “Beasts like other beasts...”  
  
She already had mounted Ajiths back as Andrée whispered, “I like you too...” leaning downwards she brushed a quick kiss upon his masked forehead and with no further word she swung the horse around and galloped out of the stable, letting behind a very stunned man.  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

 

 **VI  
  
**

Andrée de Chagny paced exasperatedly up and down the great hallway of her manor and played absentmindedly with her daggers, threw them randomly on fixtures and fittings, only to pull them out and throw again.  
Raoul watched her from the top of the grand stairs and shook his head by asking, “Sis' what's hunting you?”  
  
Andrée slowly turned to face her younger brother. “Philippe is what is hounding me!”  
  
Raoul sat down on the step he stood and and sighed, propped his chin in hands. “What he's up to now, marry you again?”  
  
Andrée just snorted and threw her dagger once more, this time straight on a family-portrait where it landed between Philippe de Chagny's eyes, hilt vibrating. “Nope! He wants that I give up fathers last will and...”  
  
“That you give him the access to your inheritance, what would mean to the rest of your assets and liabilities too...” Raoul grinned, “That's what he dreams of...”  
  
“As close as it gets, baby bro!”  
  
“Can he get it by law?”  
  
Andrée flashed him a grin. “Never ever, Raoul!”  
  
“Then he will probably try it by damaging your reputation.” Raoul smiled, “so he doesn't stand a chance, you have your reputation already successfully spoiled, Andy!”  
  
Andrée starred at him for two speechless seconds and then started to giggle. “Baby bro, you’re the best!”  
Raoul stated subtly, “I know. And you know what?”  
She shook her head and Raoul cheered, “I’m gonna marry Christine.”  
  
“You two can have the left wing...” Andrée stated matter of fact.  
  
The phantom had made the way to his box in the early afternoon to listen in on the rehearsal and now three hours later Erik began to worry.  
They had had an appointment.  
And Andrée never came too late.  
He perked up as he could hear the typical clacking noise of riding boots and – _Raoul_ de Chagny entered box number five.  
  
The two men starred for one silent moment at each other then the phantom found his voice again. “Where is Andrée?”  
  
Raoul wondered briefly why he was still alive but he had mission, and so he bowed slightly. “With our elder brother...” he shook his head, “That imbecile tried to get her money by law...”  
  
Erik still starred disbelieving at the younger man. How had this little brat found the courage. To face him?  
  
“...and I'm here to ask your permission.”  
  
“Permission?”  
  
Raoul nodded.  
  
“For what?”  
  
The “little” blonde hesitated for an instant under the phantoms flaming look, then he remembered his sisters words. Just be respectful and polite, he's a gentleman like you. No more insane than me.  
So Raoul explained himself with slightly trembling voice, “You're Christine's tutor, her respected maestro, I ask your permission to court her.”  
  
Erik blinked twice, how often would this family surprise him once more?  
Raoul meanwhile, nervous under the gleaming eyes behind the mask, babbled on, “Andy said I would have to ask you... she considers you a dear friend... probably her only one beside Sebastian... I would really be thankful and...”  
  
“Would you please shut up,” the phantom growled, “little lord?”  
  
Raoul fell silent and nodded eagerly with wide eyes.  
  
Erik almost had to laugh at the display, but he just thought about what all had changed.  
Christine would never love him, but – _No_ , Andrée was just a friend – but he had to take what he could.  
And that twinge of sorrow he had felt when he saw Raoul and not her enter his box...  
  
Raoul almost jumped when the phantom nodded.  
  
“I give you the permission, but under one condition: You're responsible that she will not get distracted from her career!”  
  
Erik watched as the young lord left with a spring in his step.  
He had the feeling Andrée would be happy about his permission for Raoul.  
  
  


 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

**VII  
  
**

Two days later and at two a clock in the morning Andrée de Chagny and the phantom stood in the opera stables.  
His piercing eyes examined Andrée from top to toe for the second time and then Erik growled deep and low, “I'll kill him...”  
  
She shuddered and rubbed softly at her black eye. “This will go away, _his_ scar will stay...”  
Andrée flashed the phantom a grin, showing all her perfectly white teeth, “Who raises his hand against me has to pay. Brother or not...”  
  
The phantom still growled and hit his fist into the tack room’s planks leaving a crack only to repeat his action once more.  
Andrée smiled up at her dark companion. “You'll gonna hurt yourself, Erik. Then I really have to kill him,” with those words she caught his fist in the middle of the next blow, “‘cause it would be all his fault.”  
  
Erik stared wide eyed at her fingers around his slim wrist and – was to shocked to pull away as Andrée examined his left hand further, gently scolding. “Didn't I tell you so...” and before he even could think nor blink he felt her lips upon his skinned knuckles.  
Erik nearly had a heart-attack and was literally paralyzed.  
Why had he had to remove his gloves to pat Ajith?  
  
Her voice filled his dizzy head by whispering, “... kiss it better...” and then she gave his scratches a soft, wet lick.  
  
Andrée came back to her senses as she tasted the metallic flavor of blood mixed with marble dust; her eyes shot open and upwards and – she was lost in Eriks flaring gaze.  
  
“You... you...” he stammered, “... Andrée!” barely above a breathless whisper.  
  
The countess broke the eye-contact only to look at the phantoms hand once again.  
  
“Artist's hands...”  
  
Her hot breath ghosted over his cold skin and Erik shuddered in anticipation.  
  
“Long, slender fingers...”  
  
Her lips almost touched his skin once more.  
  
“Sensitive and...”   
  
He still was immobile, could do nothing more than to stare as Andrée's rosy tongue liked at his fingertip.  
  
“Marble-dust...” she purred.  
  
And Erik gasped.  
Her voice.  
Never in his live he had heard such a sensual timbre.  
Erik lifted his other hand to touch Andrée's soft, blond curls and – the stable doors flew open.  
Andrée de Chagny stared in bewilderment at the empty spot before her, from where Erik had vanished like a... like the _phantom_ he pretended to be. She still could feel his hand in hers.  
  
Mme. Giry asked cautiously, peering into the stables, “Who is it?”  
  
Andrée bit back a curse, put on her happy-face and cheered, “It's me, the countess, Mme. Giry!”  
  
The box-keepers voice sounded a little upset as the women spoke next, “This's no place for a lady at this nightly hour. At least not with the phantom lurking around!”  
  
Andrée had to rein in her temper at the remark and so she growled with gritted teeth, “Do _you_ see any phantom _lurking_ here? And by the way, like you said, this is no place for a lady. So what are _you_ doing here, Mme. Giry? Rendezvous with a certain Persian?”  
  
The older lady just stared at the countess who had taken a step forward into the stables lanterns light and shook her head. “You've a black eye, countess...” she made a step closer to Andrée, “Who was it?”  
  
“None of your business, Giry...” and Andrée opened the stable door and led Ajith out into the night, “bye!”  
  
Erik meanwhile had fled the stables like hunted by a demon, his hand still burning where the countess had touched him.  
She had kissed him.  
Again.  
Had kissed his injuries – and lapped at his skin.  
Twice.  
Andrée had called his skeleton, bony hands artist's hands.  
Her purring voice still filled his spinning mind, made him shudder over and over.  
“I wish you would be mine...” his voice was darker than ever, as he whispered the words into the lonesome darkness of his lair, pacing to his organ.  
  
  


 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

**VIII  
  
**

To say he was upset was an understatement.  
Raoul, vicomte de Chagny was furious.  
This could not be true.  
What in all havens names had happened that his sister had canceled every business meeting she had so far.  
And she had sat in her manor for days now.  
This had to end.  
  
Emily, the maid, stared with wide eyes at the young vicomte as he scolded. “... and you really don't know how long she wasn't in her room, or even ate?”  
Emily shook her head. “Mistress’s in her studio since she came back the last time from the opera. She not even took a ride...”  
  
“When was it that she came back?”  
  
“Three days my Lord. And she gave order to cancel...” she spoke to nothing but air.  
  
The door to the art studio flew open and first of all Raoul almost choked on the blue, thick smoke that welcomed him.  
He squinted his eyes and bit back a curse, before he advanced further, opening all the curtains and windows he crossed. As he finally reached his goal, he stared down at Andrée who was sprawled out on a divan in front of an almost mans-high, veiled canvas, opium-pipe and paint-brush still in hand, but soundly sleeping.  
  
“Heck sis', you should take more care of you...”  
Raoul plucked the pipe and the tool out of her hands, took in her shabby state.  
“To drug your self doesn’t any good to no one...” he laid his hand on her forehead, “... and if this is Philipe’s fault once again, I'll go to hire some killer...” and with this he seated himself at her side.  
  
“Would you...”  
  
Raoul woke up at the rasping sound of his sister’s voice.  
  
“... believe me if I said I haven't done this in years, baby bro'?”  
  
He just nodded and stood to fetch a glass of water for her from the table nearby, with the words “I would...” he passed her the water which she gladly accepted.  
“What brought you to this act of self-destruction, sis'” and he sat down once more by her side.  
Andrée snorted. “First, Philippe,” she pointed at her now yellowish eye, “second, I'm an imbecile and last but not least: I fell in love and now...” she sighed deeply, “he seems to refuse to speak with me ever again.”  
  
Raoul raised a curious eyebrow asking, “Who?”  
  
The woman shot him a glance, pointing at the canvas. “Do you really have to ask, Raoul?”  
  
He sighed and smiled sadly. “Not really sis. Not really. But you already hunted him down once...”  
  
“He _let_ me hunt him down....” she chuckled.  
  
“Who said,” Raoul shrugged, “he wouldn't let himself be caught by you again...”  
  
Andrée stood, slightly swaying, “I need a bath and a hot soup...” she smiled faintly at her brother, “and then I'll go to hunt!”  
  
“May I,” the younger de Chagny asked, “look at the painting?”  
  
“If you promise not to scream, baby bro...” she nodded with a slight smile tugging at her lips and left the room with unstable steps.  
Her brother always knew the right words if it was necessary.  
  
  


 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**IX  
  
**

Andrée had made the way from her mansion to the opera house by walking to clear up her mind.  
Opium, how could she?  
Andrée shook her head... she had been with the need to paint.  
To paint a picture of her love.  
Of him.  
Erik.  
Erik like she had heard his description way back in Persia.  
Once she had begun she couldn't stop. Like driven by madness.  
Two nights and three days.  
And while the colors needed to dry, she'd smoked, because it was the only thing to stop the creeping madness.  
To silence the voices echoing in her spinning head.  
  
“Insane artist...”  
  
How often had Philippe called her that, before he tried to wed her?  
Or kill her, she still wasn't entirely sure about it.  
Too often to count.  
  
And then she arrived at the opera-house.  
At this nightly hour the hidden corridors where all full with empty darkness like the labyrinth of pan.  
Andrée hustled through the dark aisles, from time to time she hid behind a pillar or in one of the alcoves, muttering, as she crossed the way of some shifters for the fourth time.  
“' thought those corridors would be empty at this time...”  
And downwards she moved once more.  
  
On the level of the third basement she heard the ratcatcher approach and she darted in a swift movement into the shadow of a sculpture – only to find herself fall into a dark abyss.  
“That,” she breathed by catching her fall and landing on her feet, “wasn't according to the plan!” and she blinked at her multiple reflections, in the blinding light.  
  
Erik sat at his organ, enclosed in the very core of his music, pressed in to notes what his soul couldn't speak out loud, as the piercing sound of the torture chambers alert stung into his ears.  
He took the next thing within reach to throw it at the dashboard – everything to stop the jarring mismatched sound.  
Whoever was in that chamber had to wait or to kill himself.  
  
“We're still not in Persia, Erik.”  
The blonde woman grumbled while she stood up next to the iron tree, “you're a little taller than six foot,” she placed her hands flat upon the glass on the height of her chest, “so I would presume that this dang mechanism must be on this height...”  
Andrée ran her hands over the mirrors, her eyes firmly closed.  
Two mirrors later she opened her eyes and flashed her reflection a grin. “We're good Andrée...” and with this she placed the tip of her dagger in a minuscule, almost invisible slot, “At least we're not well-done!”  
  
She was greeted by the thundering, lavishing sound of an organ.  
Every single note played with perfect harmony, fitted together in a wonderful chorus of desire and longing, dreams and hope, lingered around her physical and mental self, ravished her with such an excellent perfection that Andrée leaned back against the nearest wall for support.  
Her eyes clung to Erik while she watched him play.  
Perfect.  
Every move was pure harmony, ecstasy – he was one with his music, bleeding emotions into the keys..  
She had the urge to paint him again.  
“Mine.” The word had left her lips barely inaudible, but full of longing.  
  



	14. Chapter 14

 

 

**X  
  
**

Erik's play ended with a sweet crescendo which flowed into an endlessly fading prowling note and for a single moment there was nothing but silence.  
Then the phantom remembered the torture chamber and slowly he turned to face the door only to meet two flaming green eyes.  
  
“Andrée?!” he stammered helplessly.  
  
She curved her lips upwards into a smile and then she pushed herself away from the wall, strode towards him. “You're beautiful.”  
  
Erik blinked once, then twice and finally over came his shock to find her in his parlor and so he shook his head.  
“I'm not beautiful, I'm a beast...”  
He sighed deeply.  
“If you would see what lies beneath this mask...”  
  
Her smile went softer. “Erik,” he shuddered, her voice held that sensual tone again.  
And she prowled towards him.  
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”  
She finally stood face to face with him.  
  
Erik shook his head faintly as she extended her hand, holding his eyes with her flaming gaze.  
  
“And...” she whispered, “you don't wear your mask!”  
Her fingertips tentatively touched his cheek.  
  
He flinched back at her soft touch, tried to escape, finally aware that she was right.  
His mask laid abandoned on the floor beneath the dashboard.   
  
Andrée just followed his moves and placed her palms on his cheekbones, softly brushing her thumbs against his yellowish, parchment skin and confessed, “I've painted you. I painted you with this face. The description I've gotten in Persia was very,” her voice dropped to a purr, “very clear...” and with this she tiptoed and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.  
  
Erik stood thunderstruck.  
  
Andrée kissed him again, right under the hole where his nose was supposed to be and whispered softly, “Erik, you should breath.”  
She brushed her cheek against his, breathing over his sensible ear, “it is not very healthy to stop doing so.”  
  
He drew a shaky breath. “Andrée...”  
  
She nodded in answer, her cheek still nuzzled against his.  
“I'm here.”  
She kissed a soft trail from his ear to his mouth, “still marking what's mine...” and with this she finally pressed her soft lips onto his mouth.  
  
Erik's eyes fell shut, his hands grasped her shoulders and he felt like drowning in a sea of bliss as Andrée deepened the kiss.  
His first true kiss.  
Then, as they had to come up for air, he was afraid that this was nothing but a morphine induced dream, caused by music and his traitorous thoughts.  
  
“I love you...” her voice, deep and alluring and her hand on his neck and her body pressed against his, took away the fear – almost.  
Could he really believe this was no dream?  
  
Andrée still looked up to those flaming eyes, could see how much doubt laid in them and she smiled.  
“I'm here, kissing you, holding you, telling you that I belong to you...”  
She gently guided his head down to hers, “that I'll die without you, 'cause...”  
  
Erik silenced her by pressing his mouth on hers, at first a little clumsy and then, as she responded, they melted together in almost perfect harmony.  
He held her gaze with his and panted, “You belong to me? So as I belong to you.”  
  
“Mine!” she stated  
  
“Mine...” he whispered still disbelieving back, only to find himself drowning in another searing kiss.  
  
  
  


 

 


	15. Third Part

 

__*****Third Part***  
  
or  
GHOSTLY DREAMS  
  
  
** **I  
  
**

Two days had gone since Andrée had stumbled into his lair and Erik wouldn't miss a moment of these.  
She fit so absolutely perfect into his life, filled the void in it with warmth.  
She accepted and loved him not despite how and whom he was, she loved him _because_ he was like he was.  
  
“Erik!”  
  
He lifted Ayesha on to his arms, followed Andrée's voice into the next room, to be greeted by an extraordinary sight.  
Andrée, still dressed in his own dressing gown stood in front of his “bed”, gently stroking the side of it.  
And at this point he started to remember.  
Little Christine – she seemed so shocked when she saw his “Persian-cat-basket”.  
Christine who he had loved like no one before.  
And he wondered how far in the past this all seemed to him.  
Andrée had erased all those humiliating feelings towards the little “brat”.  
“Andrée de Chagny,” he could see her shudder as he spoke, “I love you.”  
  
The countess smiled heavy lidded at Erik, stroked one last time over the coffins side and strolled over to the phantom. “Two questions. Why have you got a coffin in your room? And why do you wear,” her nimble fingers plucked his mask away, while Ayesha jumped to the floor, “this dang thingy? Can't kiss you...” and her lips captured his mouth once more.  
They parted and Erik decided to tell her the truth – she was no Christine, she as an adventurer who'd seen the world.   
“The gipsies used to call me a living corps...” he smiled bitterly, “... so I found it only appropriate to sleep in a coffin.”  
  
Andrée nodded. “This explains why it has your scent all over it.”  
  
“You sniffed at...” he stopped midway because she pulled at her belt and he could do nothing more than to stare at her bare body beneath.  
  
“So,” her voice purred, “in who's bed did we make love before, if you usually sleep in a coffin?”  
  
He gulped hard and confessed, “Guest bed?”  
  
Andrée made a displeased sound and turned to face the coffin. “So... Guest bed...” the dressing gown slid down over her shoulders, “I think it would be only appropriate...” the dressing gown finally met the floor, “to make up for this!” and she shot him a glance over her shoulder. “I'm waiting...”  
  
Erik crossed the room so fast that she uttered a little surprised shriek as he lifted her up, placed her in his _coffin_ and crawled after her, all in one smooth motion.  
  
“Mine!” his husky voice stated.  
  
“Yours...” she purred back while she pulled at his cloths, placing kisses all over his horrible face.  
And finally they were both naked, gasping for breath and moaning each others names.  
  
Erik woke up in his coffin, greeted with an absolutely new sensation, not only he was literally curled around a warm, soft body that held him in return, with no space to move any further; no, he could feel her heart beating against his chest, her steady breath caressing his collarbones and the musky scent of their lovemaking still lingered.   
He decided that he never would like to wake up without her again and so he whispered in to his sleeping loves ear, “Marry me...”  
He felt her breath hitch, her heartbeat increasing and as her sweet voice whispered a faint “Yes!” Erik closed his eyes in bliss.  
  


 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

**II  
  
**

He smiled at her, outstretched on his divan he tried to hold absolutely still, even with this damn cramp in his right leg and Ayesha crawling all over him, but he could lay there forever, just watching her paint.  
She painted like he composed.  
Absolutely lost into her own universe.  
No longer part of this world, every brushstroke set with perfectly precision and guided by a quenchless need to banish perfection into her work.  
And he was a part of this outer world.  
A part of her own world, because she was painting him.  
Over and over again.  
  
Andrée peered with squinted glistening, green eyes around the easel, her gaze slid over the sprawled wiry body on the cushion pile, and for the split of a second her absent eyes came back to reality, a beautiful smile tugged at her lips and she mouthed around the brush between her teeth.  
“Love you...” and her “object d' art” graced her with a little laugh and a wink who made her shiver in desire.  
  
Only a few more strokes, then the paint had to dry again; and then, this time there was no opium. Madness yes, perhaps, but no more drugs.  
Andrée de Chagny had found a much better way to stop her running thoughts.  
And the benefit of painting a nude was that your model already was – well, nude.  
  
Erik watched her lay the brush aside as she wiped her hands on a rag and then sashayed over to him, while he fell back on the divan, pleasurably stretched his limbs and purred.  
  
“Come hither my rainbow.”  
  
The countess shuddered under his look and curved her eyebrow questioningly and fell to her knees beside him.  
  
“Rainbow, my love?”  
  
Erik nodded, reached for her cheek and rubbed first softly at a streak of carmine on her cheekbone and then plucking a brush from behind her right ear.  
Andrée took the opportunity to lean in and kiss him, whispering a delightful, “Mine.”  
Erik encircled her in his arms, pulled her down and rolled them around so he was on top of her.   
  
“ _Mine_!” and he rocked his hips, drawing a little moan from Andrée.  
  
Her fingernails dug into his back, scratched over the scars, drove him slightly mad and with a low, deep growl he bit hard down on Andrée's shoulder.  
Marking her as his.  
  
“Mine.”  
  
She whimpered, bucked her hips upwards and threw her head back, offered even more of her skin to Erik moaning his name in ecstasy.  
  
His name.  
  
His name fell from her lips in those moments of highest ecstasy always made him loose his last restraints and so Erik fell once more out of reality and into a pool of pure bliss.  
  
Andrée cuddled closer, pulled the blanket over them and placed soft kisses on Erik's collarbone, while she cooed, “you're the best model I ever had... and I love you so much, my husband.”  
  
Erik let out a happy sigh and placed a kiss upon her head while he whispered, “I still can't believe that you said yes... I love you too, my wife.”  
  
“If you don't believe it, you can still ask your brother-in-law...” the countess chuckled.  
  
Erik soundlessly giggled as he remembered Raoul's face when they had ask the younger de Chagny to be their best man and as Andrée announced that she would pick Christine as her maid of honor.

“We should tell it to Nadir someday...” he yawned.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

**III  
  
  
**

“Sis, Erik, let me out or in!”  
  
Raoul de Chagny's fists banged against the mirrors again.  
At least Erik supposed that his brother-in-law used his fists and not his feet.  
With a annoyed groan the phantom pulled the hidden door open and scolded.  
  
“You now, dear Raoul, your sister escaped that damn thing the first time she fell into it...” he made a theatrical pause, “and no one had explained the mechanism to her _twice_ before!”  
  
Raoul brushed some nonexistent fuzz from his sleeve and friendly patted Erik’s upper-arm. “Hi, glad to see you too, Erik!”  
  
The phantom just snorted and shook his head, closing the torture chamber’s door.  
  
“Where's your wife,” Raoul asked playfully, “Phantom?”  
  
Erik, now _Count de Chagny_ by marriage, grinned at his unexpected but welcomed guest and gestured to the kitchen-door.  
  
Raoul stared surprised at Erik. “How in all heaven’s name did you get her into this room?!”  
  
“Don't get too exited baby bro', I'm just preparing tea!” Andrée teased back, from around the corner.  
  
  
“... this is it! It's enough! I'll kill them! I kill him.” Andrée raged.  
  
Erik and Raoul exchanged a meaningfully look and then Erik spoke, “Don't. If someone kills our directors it will be me!”  
  
Raoul placed his teacup back on the couch-table and chided in, “You don't have to kill them, just killing “la Carlotta” would be enough. Or you could blackmail all the three of them...”  
  
Andrée and Erik stared fascinated at the blond who continued, “... Richard with his love-affair with our not-so-special-diva, the diva with her illegitimate child from Moncharmin and Moncharmin with his unhealthy attraction towards Richards... or in any other combination you'd like!”  
  
The two other persons in the room where absolutely stunned and stated in unison, “What?!”  
  
Raoul grinned. “I said you could simply blackmail them... I got proof for most off their not-so-intelligent-actions... or you ax the funds!”  
  
“Never knew you're a genius...” Erik stated.  
  
“I knew you're the family-genius...” Andrée stated.  
  
It was almost noon as the directors entered their office, only to be greeted by a pile of letters and a grinning Countess de Chagny, who sat at Moncharmin’s desk and played along with one of her all time present daggers.  
  
“Hello my dear Monsieur’s...” she swung her legs down from the desk, “I've gotten a letter the past night...” she threw said paper on the desk, “it's from the phantom and guess what he had to tell me, Monsieur’s.”  
  
The both men watched in shocked silence when the countess stood up and circled the desk, dagger almost playfully pointing at them.  
  
“He told me,” her already furiously calm voice dropped to a growl, “that you do not lead _our_ opera house according to our wishes!”  
  
Now the countess stood in front of the two directors and she sounded even more annoyed. “So if you expect any more money from my side, the de Chagny who pays the whole ensemble – including the phantom – _you will not_ _listen to my older brother’s advice!_ ” and with this she left the room, slamming the door.  
  
Erik smiled behind his mask and pulled her into his arms as she entered one of his secret corridors and whispered, causing her to shiver. “You did _my_ job in there...”  
  
Andrée leaned back into his chest and tried to adjust her head so she could look up at him. “How so?”  
  
Erik nuzzled his chin into her neck. “You scared them to death...” there was an amused rumble swinging in his voice.  
  
“I've learned from the best...” she wiggled her hips and he gasped for breath.  
  
So close. So delightfully close.  
His long, slender fingers tentatively slid under her jacket, under her chemise, dancing over her ribs, eliciting a soft whimper from her. “Mine...”  
  
  



	18. Chapter 18

 

 

**IV  
  
**

Eriks arm laid comfortingly around her squared shoulders as they sat in front of the lawyer who explained them that the last will of Count André de Chagny was very clear and incontestable.  
He closed his little speech with the words, directed towards Erik. “... And with your marriage before the law the Rest of the de Chagny family assets and liabilities, including the title, are at your disposal, Count Erik de Chagny.”  
  
Erik drew a deep breath and nodded, absentmindedly whispering, “I'm not only married, I'm a count... a de Chagny on plus...”  
  
Andrée by his side turned halfway and touched his forearm.  
“I didn't know my father had made a double testament... And I still don't know what else my brother has done to fall so low in fathers regard, as to be a true douche bag...”  
  
The lawyer shot her a slightly shocked glance.  
  
“But with the family fortune upon the sleeves we could buy the opera house.”  
  
Her husband stared flabbergasted at her. “You mean we can buy and lead...”  
  
The lawyer meddled in, “Should be no problem, I can arrange the contract if you desire, Countess, Count?”  
  
Andrée exchanged a look with Erik who nodded and stated, “Please, Monsieur Foche, my wife will still be your business partner, I really do not understand enough of the financial world...”  
  
The countess beamed at both men as the lawyer accepted.  
  
“It will be, as always, a grand pleasure to make dealings with you Countess de Chagny.”  
  
They had left the bureau about two hours later and were now on their way to the mansion sharing Ajiths back.  
Erik leaned closer to his wife’s ear and whispered, “Can you explain to me what happened in this office?”  
  
Andrée chuckled. “I thought you’re the insane genius in this relationship, Erik.”  
  
He chuckled. “Insane perhaps, but genius... at the moment I would doubt that!”  
  
“In fact it's simple. Philippe has lost fathers regard with this unspeakable thing he did, so father let him only rule the family 'cause he was the oldest male heir to the day I got wed to an older man than him. This explains also why he tried to wed me before I left.”  
  
“Your father was a very intelligent and cunning man...” Erik mumbled.  
  
“What do you want to say with that?”  
  
The phantom stifled a laugh. “He certainly knew that you would lead the family and not your husband!”  
  
“In fact, he told me once that he wished that I would be his _son_ , so he could teach me all the business things officially.”  
  
The sad tone of her voice wrenched at Eriks heart and so he lifted his mask to kiss her cheek. “You're better than every man I know so far!”  
  
Andrée turned her head to meet his lips and kissed him softly. “Thanks my love.”  
  
“You're more than welcome. And now, please put it in two sentences. What happened in that office?”  
  
She laughed and explained, “You've become a Count, you rule the de Chagny family business and we’re gonna buy the opera house and fire the directors including la Carlotta. This was one sentence,” she teased, “pleased?”  
  
Erik reflected a second or two. “Not so sure about that. Not so sure...”  
  
  


 


	19. Last Part

 

__*****Last Part***  
or  
EPILOGUE  
  
**

“This is the best family reunion we ever had, Sis!” Raoul cheered and followed with his gaze his three year old son who rode on “uncle Erik’s” horse together with said uncle.  
  
“Yep!” Andrée stated and passed a photograph to Christine, “you're pretty good at your new avocation, Chrissy!”  
  
The young lady blushed and smiled. “You can keep it if you want, I'm not sure Erik would let me take another one!”  
  
“This, my Darling,” Raoul leaned down to brush a kiss upon Christine's hair, “is probably Andy's fault. You know the gallery.”  
  
“Pfft, don't forget that I've painted your wedding portrait, baby bro!”  
  
Later this evening as Andrée reclined in her chair on the patio from her mansion – the old de Chagny mansion had been sold two years ago – and thought back on everything which had led them up to this point.  
Raoul and Christine happily married, the birth of her nephew almost nine months later, the day when the police arrested Philippe because he tried once more to kill her and her absolutely undying love for her husband who had saved her on this day back then.  
And now they were here. At least half of the time.  
The other half of their time they lived in Erik’s lair, beneath _their_ opera house.  
A pair of wiry but strong arms encircled her from behind and Erik’s deep, low, sensual voice growled in her ear, “Mine.”  
  
“Mine!” she whispered passionately back and let him lift her up and carry her into their room.  
  
  
 **END**

 

 

 

 


End file.
